


Let's Relish This Moment

by njw



Series: Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Condiments as Weapons, Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 11:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Timmy dives, knowing he’s too late even as everything in his being SCREAMS for him to be just a little bit faster, just that fractional amount better that he has to be, needs to be if he’s going to be able to SAVE Damian…...This is NOT as serious and angsty as the summary makes it sound, WOW that's misleading. And yet, I'm not going to change it...





	Let's Relish This Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the epilogue of Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur. I'd warn you this isn't likely to make much sense without reading that story, but I don't know your life; for all I know you thrive on confusion. Also, that beast is over 80K words which is kind of a commitment, I understand. 
> 
> TLDR there's two Tims in this story, just roll with it! Enjoy.

Timmy dives, knowing he’s too late even as everything in his being _screams_ for him to be just a little bit faster, just that fractional amount _better_ that he _has_ to be, _needs_ to be if he’s going to be able to _save Damian…_

…Damian, who is in his arms now, coughing and convulsing, a thin trickle of red visible in the corner of his mouth.

Timmy’s heart is _breaking._

“Dami, I’m so _sorry,”_ he chokes out. “This is all my fault-!”

“Nonsense, Timothy,” Damian manages, grasping his hands tightly and managing a reassuring smile for him. “You couldn’t have predicted this. No one could.”

“But I _did,”_ Timmy whispers wretchedly, ignoring the sounds of continued battle around them as he hunches his body protectively over his little brother. _Too late, far too late,_ his mind whispers cruelly, watching the red dripping from Damian’s hairline and soaking his shirt. “I _knew_ this was a possibility. I had a failsafe in place, even.”

His breath catches as he tremulously inhales, and Damian reaches for his face, concern in his eyes. _“Timothy,”_ he whispers. “It was my duty to train you to foresee every eventuality, and prepare accordingly. If your preparations have not been sufficient, then that is _my_ burden as your tutor, never yours.” He frowns heavily. “As your teacher, I have failed you.”

“No,” Timmy chokes out, eyes filling with tears. _“No!”_

After making sure Damian is as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, Timmy rises, locking his body armor and weapons into position and slowly beginning to make his way across the field of battle. He carries his own weapon in his left hand and Damian’s in his right, in remembrance.

He refuses to look at the damage, the _fallen,_ as he inexorably moves to meet his fate.

Dick, on the ground near Damian having taken a shot to the chest meant for both the younger boys, lying face down in an accusing crimson puddle.

Jason, collapsed in what was clearly a defensive last stand over Tim’s fallen body, gallantly refusing to abandon his darling even though there was obviously no chance of saving him.

Tim, _soaked_ in red, eyes fluttering closed one last time as he mouths Timmy’s name, begging him _not to go,_ not to risk it…

 _But I have to,_ Timmy thinks, tortured. _This is all my fault._

If he hadn’t _created_ the weapon, _handed it over_ to their mutual enemy so trustingly, so _foolishly…_

He clenches his hands around his and Damian’s weapons, and _runs._

 _I can do this. I_ have to. _I’m the only one left…_

Timmy tries not to look at Bruce’s pained expression as he sprints past the man, crumpled to the ground and oozing various fluids. He honestly doesn’t know how it came to this. How it all went so _wrong._

Finally, _finally_ Timmy arrives at his destination, swings his weapons around to square off against the terrible enemy who has _destroyed_ them all. The one who brought down Timmy’s brothers, his surrogate _father_ with such ease. If Timmy can’t take him down _now,_ no one will, and there will never be any kind of justice for their awful plight.

“Oh, young Master Timmy,” the enemy says, quirking an eyebrow at him with a very faint suggestion of a smirk. “My dear boy. You are a hundred years too early to be facing _me.”_

And in a suspended moment of slow-motion, crystallized horror, he slides right through Timmy’s defenses and stoically mows him down with wave after wave of condiments, just like he did to the rest of their family.

As Timmy collapses on the Manor lawn, choking impotently on ketchup, he gasps out in tones of utmost betrayal, “But _Alfred!_ We were on the same _team!”_

The butler merely chuckles, sliding his condiment canon away and using a handkerchief to fastidiously clean a minute speck of mustard from his fingertip. “Ah, the naiveté of youth. You should know, young sir, I will _never_ take sides between you and your brothers. And should any of you attempt to recruit me against his siblings again, I shall endeavor to teach you _all_ a lesson once more.”

Alfred smiles, spins neatly on his heel, and makes his way back toward the Manor to finish his lunch preparations. At the last moment, he glances back over his shoulder, eyeing the battlefield and each of the fallen. “Please, feel free to try me, Master Timmy.” He twinkles. “I can do this all day.”

And Timmy, witnessing the utter collapse of all his grandiose plans to enlist Alfred’s aid in the ever-escalating modified-nerf weaponry war he and Damian have been waging for over a _year_ against Tim and Jason, learns an important life lesson in that moment.

Contingencies are all well and good, but you _can’t just stop there._

 _Each contingency plan must have its own contingency, in case something goes wrong,_ he finds himself thinking as he blinks mustard out of his eyelashes and goes to help Damian to his feet for their ignominious retreat.

 _Contingencies on contingencies,_ he thinks wildly, mind visualizing the intricate web of plans without which he must never take a step again.

_It wasn’t enough to have a remote kill switch on the weapon I armed Alfred with; I should have had other procedures in place to handle him when he inevitably went rogue._

_Well played, Alfred._

Damian leans into Timmy’s side as they make their way slowly to their favorite secret ledge in the Cave to plan their glorious return from this jarring defeat. “I apologize, Timothy,” the boy says stiffly as they walk together, chilly condiments dripping from their soaked clothing. “I assure you, in the future I will do my utmost to be a better teacher and protector for you… if this debacle has not soured you forever to my tutelage.” His eyes flick to Timmy and then quickly away as he holds himself stiffly, clearly expecting to be rebuffed and told he is no longer good enough for Timmy to spend time with.

 _No way! Dami’s the best friend I’ve ever had, I’m not letting him take the blame for this. Planning ahead sufficiently is_ my _job._

Timmy smiles, dropping an arm around Damian’s shoulder and squeezing. “You’re the _best,_ Dami,” he says warmly. “And I think the smart thing for us to do here is learn from our mistakes.”

Damian perks up, eying him hopefully. “Next time we engage in hostilities with Todd and Drake, we shall use the water gun which can cut through steel?”

Timmy shudders, pushing away the horrific mental pictures that result from imagining using _that_ weapon against their big brothers. “Ah, no, Dami. I meant, we won’t rely on any allies we can’t be _absolutely_ sure we can trust to be on our side.”

“Oh, I see.” Damian smiles at him, a perfect balance of malevolent mischief and innocence. “So just the two of us, then?”

“Yep,” Timmy grins. “I think the two of us together with sufficient planning can take down _anyone_ , no problem.”

*

Tim whimpers as he pushes himself up, attempting to get to his feet and not actually managing to do much more than collapse sprawling across Jason’s chest.

Jay groans, arms automatically coming up to wrap around Tim. “Prettyboy?” He blinks open blue eyes to stare worriedly at his boyfriend. “Tim, what the fuck just happened? I thought I saw _Alfred_ with a weird-looking giant water gun, of all fuckin’ things, and then it’s just a blur of _red_ and _yellow_ and _screaming…”_ He licks his lips, brows rising in surprise. “Is this fuckin’ _mustard?”_

“Yeah, so… that actually just happened,” Tim says dazedly, allowing himself to face plant on Jason’s warm strong shoulder and doing his best to ignore the stickiness and sweet scent of the ketchup, mustard, and relish coating them. “…It might be best for our sanity if we don’t dwell on it.”

 _“Whhhyyyy?”_ Dick, lying near them, heaves himself with great effort onto his back and flings his arms out to the sides, panting in exertion. “I don’t understand… I was just coming to visit for the day!”

Bruce trudges up squishily alongside the trio and stands over them, silently surveying their state. All of them are dripping various condiments, still reeling from the impromptu battle in which they showed so poorly.

“I think a little recompense is in order,” Bruce says, a corner of his mouth quirking as he grasps Dick’s outstretched hand and assists him to his feet.

“What, against fuckin’ _Alfred?”_ Jason’s voice sounds shocked.

 _He’s right,_ Tim thinks. _Going against_ Alfred _is a fool’s bet._

Bruce snorts. “No, of course not.” He smiles slowly. “I have it on good authority Timmy and Damian started it, and I suspect they plan to take action against you two again before too long.” He nods to Tim and Jason.

Dick frowns. “You’re saying the _four of us_ should team up against a _thirteen year-old_ and an _eight year-old?”_

Bruce smiles, clapping Dick on the shoulder. “Don’t say it like we’ll be _attacking_ them, chum! It’s all in good fun, old sport!” And with a fatuous grin he strides away toward the Manor, whistling cheerily.

Dick, Jason and Tim stare after him. “Did he just pull out fuckin’ _Brucie_ on us?”

“Yeah, Jay, I think he did.” Dick’s tones are both awed and horrified, as is an appropriate response to the appalling creation that is _Brucie._

“Oh shit.” Jason blanches.

“Right?”

“The kids are in fuckin’ _trouble.”_

“I think B got ketchup in his _eye.”_ Dick blinks sympathetically.

Jason sighs, wincing. “Yeah, that’d do it. Poor little fuckers, they got no idea what’s comin’ for them.”

“Should we warn them?” Tim frowns uncertainly. Jason grins, dropping an arm around his boyfriend.

“Oh fuck no, they started this shit! They gotta learn for themselves!” He looks up at his big brother. “Hey, Dickiebird, you wanna go get us some chilidogs? ‘Cause I hate to just let all these condiments go to _waste…”_

“Yeah, Jay! Let’s _relish_ this moment!” Dick _grins_ and Tim rolls his eyes, resigning himself to _all the condiment-related puns_ and spending the next hour fending off attempts by his boyfriend and boyfriend’s big brother to rub chilidogs _on his face._

He huffs a laugh, then smiles at Jay’s excited expression at the idea of chilidogs. _My life is so weird, and I_ love _it._

 

**Author's Note:**

> The servers at work are down today which means I can't get into my work email, so long story short I ended up in the bath with both wine and my kindle. And somehow instead of the far more likely possibility of my dropping the kindle in the bath, THIS happened.
> 
> I have a fluffy, angsty, humerous multi-chapter story cooking which was supposed to be the second part of the Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur series. This is not that story. This is the condiment-battle that literally no one asked for, which I in my dubious wisdom decided to both write and publish while mildly tipsy. Hope you enjoyed! :D


End file.
